“And what’s more,” Mrs. Humphreys said, “they weren’t above buying things. Those two young Swedish misses were buying up presents for their friends back home. Just think! Our embroideries on Swedish dressers.”

A general discussion of the benefits of Caro’s novel idea ensued; she helped stack tray covers and doilies, agreeing that if she was in residence at Bramshaw when next year’s fete rolled around, she would consider hosting some similar dual event.

Standing a little behind Caro, Michael kept an eye on the clearing in general while scanning the thinning crowd. Eventually he spotted Edward and beckoned him over.

Stepping away from the ladies, he lowered his voice. “Earlier, someone shot an arrow at Caro.”

His appreciation of the younger man’s talents deepened when Edward only blinked, then returned, equally sotto voce, “Not an accident from the contest… ?” Reading the truth in his face, Edward sobered. “No—of course not.” He blinked again. “Could it have been Ferdinand?”

“Not personally. I doubt he’d have the skill and regardless, he’d be more likely to hire someone to do the job. The arrow came from the direction of the butts, but had to have been fired from within the forest.”

Edward nodded, his gaze on Caro. “This is starting to look very strange.”

“Indeed. And there’s more. I’ll come around tomorrow morning and we can discuss the whole, and decide what we need to do.”

Edward met his gaze. “Does she know?”

“Yes. But we’ll need to keep a close watch over her.” Michael looked at Caro. “Starting from now, and your journey home.”

He couldn’t drive Caro home; it would have looked too odd, what with Geoffrey, Edward, and Elizabeth all there, along with a host of Bramshaw staff—and the entrance to the drive was only across the village street. He did, however, keep a surreptitious watch from atop his gig, before, satisfied she was halfway down the drive, surrounded by numerous others, and no problem had occurred, he headed home.

On the one hand, he was thoroughly satisfied; on the other, anything but.

Next morning, he rode to Bramshaw House as soon as he’d breakfasted. Edward, seeing him striding up the lawn, left Elizabeth to practice the piano alone and came to meet him; together they went into the parlor.

“Caro’s slept in,” Edward informed him. A slight frown played across his face. “She must have been worn out by the fete—perhaps the heat.”

Michael suppressed his smirk and sat. “Probably. Regardless, that gives us time to revisit the facts before she joins us.”

Edward sat on the chaise and leaned forward, all attention. Michael settled in the armchair and recited the facts known to him, much as he had with Caro the previous day.

When, gowned for the summer day in a fluttery gown of pale apple-green muslin, Caro drifted downstairs after breakfasting—very late—in her room, she wasn’t at all surprised to hear Michael’s deep voice rum-bling from the parlor.

Smiling, still serenely, dreamily content, she headed that way, noting that Elizabeth was flexing her fingers in the drawing room.

Pausing on the parlor’s threshold, she saw Michael and Edward, both frowning at their thoughts; they saw her, and stood. She glided in, smiling easily at Edward, then rather more privately at Michael.

His eyes met hers; she felt the heat in his gaze. Calmly, she sat on the chaise, waited until they’d resat. “What are you discussing?”

Michael replied, “The relative likelihood of Fedinand’s being after something for himself, or having been sent after something for someone else.”

She met his gaze. “I have to own to great difficulty in believing that what Ferdinand’s after could have anything to do with him personally. He knew Camden, that’s true, but diplomatically Ferdinand’s a nonentity.” She looked at Edward. “Don’t you agree?”

Edward nodded. “I would assume with his background he’ll eventually step up to some post, but at present…” He looked at Michael. “I can only see him as a lackey.”

“Very well,” Michael said. “If he’s a lackey, who is he acting for?”

Caro exchanged a glance with Edward, then pulled a face. “I really couldn’t see him acting for anyone but his family, not in such a way—trying to seduce me, asking after Camden’s papers, arranging to have the Hall burgled, searching here.” She met Michael’s gaze. “No matter what else Ferdinand is, he is a member of an old aristocratic family, and Portuguese family honor is in some ways more stiff-rumped than English. He wouldn’t risk the honor of his house in such a way.”

“Not unless it was the honor of his house that he was seeking to protect.” Michael nodded. “That’s what I thought. So what do you know of Ferdinand’s family?”

“The count and countess—his uncle and aunt—are the only ones I’ve met in Lisbon.” Edward looked at Caro. “The duke and duchess are representatives of some description in Norway, I think.”

She nodded. “I’ve met a few minor members who hold lesser posts, but the count and countess are the two currently in favor at court. They’re close to the king…” She paused, then added, “Thinking back, they’ve been steadily advancing their position over the last decade, certainly since I first went to Lisbon. They were only minor functionaries then.”

“So it could be something that would damage their standing?” Michael asked.

Edward nodded. “That seems most likely.”

Caro, however, remained sunk in thought. When she continued to stare blankly at the floor, Michael prompted, “Caro?”

She looked up, blinked. “I was just thinking… the count and countess’s standing might be at risk, but I would have heard something from someone…” She met Michael’s gaze. “Even from the count or countess themselves.”

“Not if it was something horrendously damaging,” Edward pointed out.

“True. However, it’s just occurred to me that the count and countess are not the head of the family—and that position means a lot.”

“The duke and duchess?” Michael asked.

She nodded. “Ferdinand certainly gave me that impression, and the countess, too. I’d never met the duke and duchess before, not until this last Season in town, and that only briefly, but”—she looked at Edward, then at Michael—“I should have met them, sometime, at some function in Lisbon. But I didn’t, I’m quite sure of that.”

Edward blinked owlishly. “I can’t even recall them being mentioned.”

“Nor can I,” Caro said. “Yet if they’re the head of a house, and that house is close to the throne… well, something’s wrong. Could it be they’ve been quietly banished?”

A pregnant silence fell as they all considered the prospect, all wordlessly accepted it as a possibility.

Michael glanced at Caro, then Edward. “Which begs the question, if so, for what—and could that ‘what’ be in some way connected with Ferdinand’s obsession with Camden’s papers?”

“The latter isn’t hard to imagine,” Edward said.

“Indeed not,” Caro agreed. “Camden was in touch with virtually everyone. However, Camden would have placed anything pertaining to any sensitive subject in the official files, and they’re with either the Foreign Office or the new ambassador.”

“But Ferdinand wouldn’t know that,” Michael said.

“Possibly not. So that, potentially, explains his searching.”

Edward frowned. “It doesn’t, however, throw any light on why he might be trying to harm you.”

She blinked. “You didn’t seriously think… ?” Her gaze swept to Michael, then returned to Edward. “Even if these recent incidents are attempts to harm me, I can’t see how they could have any diplomatic connection. Especially not with Ferdinand’s family secret—that, whatever it is, most likely predates my time as Camden’s wife.”

Michael’s steady, rather stern regard didn’t waver. After a moment, he said, quietly but firmly, “That’s because you don’t know, never knew, or can’t remember—for whatever reason are not aware of knowing— whatever it is these people think you know.”

After an instant, Edward nodded decisively. “Yes—that could be it. In lieu of retrieving whatever it is from Camden’s papers, someone— presumably the duke if our theorizing is correct—has decided you might know his secret, and must therefore be silenced.” He paused as if turning his words over in his mind, then nodded again. “That makes sense.”

“Not to me,” she declared, equally decisively.

“Caro—” Michael said.

“No!” She held up a hand. “Just hear me out.” She paused, listening to the distant music. “And we’ll have to be quick because Elizabeth’s almost at the end of that study, and she’ll be along as soon as she’s finished.” She looked at Michael. “So don’t argue.”

He set his lips.

“You’ve decided these three incidents have been attempts to harm me—but have they? Couldn’t they just as easily have been accidents? Only the first and third actually involved me—it’s pure conjecture that the second was targeted at me. The men attacked Miss Trice, not me. If they’d been sent to kidnap me, why did they seize her?”

Michael bit his tongue; furnished with a sketchy description, in the deceptive twilight making such a mistake would be easy. He exchanged a long glance with Edward.

“As for the third incident,” Caro rattled on, “an arrow shot from the forest too close to the edge of a crowd. Doing such a thing and successfully hitting a particular person—the archer would need to be a better marksman than Robin Hood. It was pure luck I happened to be there at that moment, that’s all. The arrow had nothing to do with me specifically.”

He and Edward kept silent. This was one argument Caro wasn’t going to let them win; there was no point pursuing it even though they were convinced they were right. They’d simply watch her anyway.